


When our souls fly high above

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Amsterdam, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, There's not much more than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 08:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: “So.” Yuri clicks his tongue and turns, leaning his elbow on the rail, his fingernails clicking against the empty glass. He plays at a confidence he doesn’t really feel, whipping his hair off his face. Otabek takes a step towards him, downing his beer and hooking his thumbs on the belt loops of his faded black jeans; he tilts his chin up and there’s no amount of alcohol in the world that can make Yuri hide the challenge in that stance. “Where are we going?”A smile slowly creeps onto Otabek’s face as if the words took their time to settle in his ears.There’s a smug gleam in his eyes, the faintest trace of that predatory smirk he makes when he’s up to something. The memory of furtive kisses at the back door of a filthy club, both of them a tangle of limbs and skin bristling against skin hidden over the city noises, makes Yuri shiver.“I know just the place.”





	When our souls fly high above

**Author's Note:**

> As always, special thanks to my girls, Gaby and Sofi and everyone who had to endure my inquiring about pot (there's too many of them, i'm sorry I'm so annoying!), to my betas and editors and fuck it, sisters from a different country at this point, [ Kata ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katabulo/pseuds/katabulo) and [ Blackmountainbones ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones). 
> 
> And to you for reading and having to put up with my nostalgia for this magical place. If you have the chance, go visit Amsterdam. If you already have, go again.

Chris might be bit too much to handle sometimes. Well, more often than not. But something sends cold shivers down Yuri’s spine at the sole mention of the city.

“Amsterdam? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Chris?” Viktor hums quietly over his coffee, letting his head rest on top of his husband’s to nuzzle against his shoulder.

A scoff on the laptop speakers cuts out the sugary moment like a razorblade. A messy mop of blond hair peeks out of a washed out black hood, eyes sparkling green underneath the golden locks. “Isn’t that the hooker district city?” Yuri snorts, running a hand through his hair. It doesn’t go far through the tangles. “That does fits you.”

On the other half of the screen, Chris just laughs the attempt of an insult off. “Well, then that’s more reason to go, isn’t it?” He lifts up his cup of tea in mock toast to the camera and takes a sip before continuing. “After all, almost thirty is quite a number to celebrate.”

“You’re getting old, why would you celebrate that?” Yuri keeps trying to offend him but the man just shrugs.

“Yurio, don’t be rude!” Katsuki lifts his gaze without moving from his privileged spot in between Viktor’s jaw and shoulder, trying to sound firm despite the obvious lack of sleep in his voice. “But couldn’t it get, you know...”  He yawns and Yuri can see that it’s just an excuse not to explain himself. Not that he needs to.

“Interesting? Well, yes. It’s off season, as you know, so we can let the party get a bit…” Chris winks at the camera and Yuri can taste of the pancake he devoured a few minutes ago crawl back up his throat for a second. “Intense. Just for the weekend. Guiltfree.”

“You know I’m up for it, Chris, don’t get me wrong,” Viktor starts, a hand on his chest and a smile dancing on his lips. There’s a shift in his eyes, a glimpse of attention towards Yuri’s window before he brushes it off as it hasn’t happened and moves on, “but I wouldn’t like for it to go too far _over the top.”_

“Honestly, I cannot believe I’m hearing this from _the_ Viktor Nikiforov. You wound me.” Chris clutches his chest and shakes his head, smiling. Yuri bites his lip, scowling at the camera. He won’t let them see it, but he knows exactly what Viktor means. It’s not because of the party: the problem is him. Well, _them._

It's not like chris doesn't know; they posted the thing on Instagram, everyone and their mothers have heard of it by now. And everyone is aware that wherever Yuri gets invited, if the occasion is important enough, Otabek Altin is coming too. The bad boy street rat Otabek Altin. The one that could take Yuri down the wrong road.

Even though Viktor should know by now he’s _not_. Otabek hasn’t done one thing wrong to Yuri. He’s a good mannered guy, even a bit too correct for Yuri who sometimes gets on his nerves because Otabek won’t touch him if he isn’t completely sure the time is right. Not when he’s sober, at least--clubs were a different matter. Nighttime Otabek was a different matter: stealing booze and smoking and fooling around in dark corners and alleys where he couldn’t be seen.

But Viktor doesn’t know that; Yuri’s sure he’s just guessing. Judging. Despite all of the love talk he’s given Otabek, all the ‘welcome to the family’ bullshit, Viktor knows no one can really take the street life out of Otabek; Yuri knows, but he’s starting to enjoy it. The adrenaline of it is inebriating, buzzing through him like a fever, throughout every fiber of his body, making him glimmer. The silly things they do (sneaking into places they can easily afford, getting drinks from stupid wankers to ditch them immediately afterwards, fucking in bathrooms with doors that don’t stay locked) are petty, childish. But they’re thrilling. And not even frequent, really. They don’t see each other much, after all, and Otabek is a cautious man: he wouldn’t let Yuri do anything actually bad. Or worse, dangerous.

Viktor should chill the fuck out.

“You know what? Sure. Let’s just…” Viktor waves a thought away with his hand. They’re all gonna be together in one place watching the gross couple get shitfaced and lose their clothes, so what Yuri could do to top that, anyways? Not that he will. He doesn’t intend to; he’d rather just hide from the sight. He’s had enough of it. “Let’s do this. For you, Chris.”

“You’re in for a treat, I promise you!” Chris pretty much jumps from his seat and throw kisses at the camera. Yuri gags again, louder this time. He still gets ignored. It’s probably better this way. “I’ll give all of you the details when I get the hotel reservations ready! All on me, you just show up, okay?” He winks one more time before his screen goes black; Yuri sees the best opportunity for his retreat now, clicking on the end call button before Viktor can say anything about it. They’ll text him the details anyways; he has another important call to make.

 

“Where is Xanşa today?”

Yuri scowls. Not even a ‘Hello’? Otabek dares to change the name of his cat (and then she goes and betrays Yuri by actually responding to it) and doesn’t even have the decency to say hello?  “Nice to know you’re always thinking so much about me, asshole.” Yuri blows his hair out of his face, huffing in frustration. It doesn’t do much to take the bangs off his eyes.

“You know I’m always thinking of you, Yura.” Otabek smiles that little side smile that makes Yuri forget his own fucking name, blinded by it.

“Stop being so fucking embarrassing, Altin.” Yuri growls at the camera, too aware of the bright red flooding his cheeks. The bastard is always so sincere and straightforward with his sappy comments; he never knows how to react. “Have you heard from Chris?”

“Why should I?” Otabek runs his hand through his hair, pushing the few strands that were starting to fall over his eyes to the back of his ear. He’s just come in from a run, probably, judging from the way his damp shirt clings a bit too tightly to his chest. Yuri has called him at what’s almost noon for Otabek on a Sunday. He never does that. At least, not on purpose. Otabek must have answered immediately just in case something important had happened.

Yet Otabek’s not alone. And he’s at his apartment, where he’s alone pretty much all the time; his friends love to come by to use his equipment and take advantage of the soundproof walls. They don’t quite yet understand that if the walls vibrate, the ceilings of the downstairs apartment with old lady and her perpetually angry looking son vibrate as well. Soundproofing doesn’t stop that. Otabek loves his friends’ company, but hates their bad habits; they’d been squatters for too long.

“Is there someone there?” Yuri tries to sound playfully suspicious. He grimaces at the bile in his voice. He’s just like those silly teenage idiots in high school, fighting for the stupidest shit, damn it.

“Yes. You caught me, Yura. I have someone over.” Otabek lowers his gaze, putting up his best puppy dog eyes, pout and all. Yuri knows he’s putting up a show for him, yet still huffs indignantly, trying his best to keep all the sweet nonsense those eyes try to squeeze out of him in. “He’s slept in, too.” Otabek adds, gesturing to someone behind the laptop. He feels the rushed Kazakh spoken near the  microphone but understands none of it; he sees the guy dropping himself on the couch besides Otabek before he can even notice he knows his voice.

“Oh my God you’re skinny!” Yuri lets out impulsively and promptly covers his mouth with his hands, eyes wide. Shit. He should not have said that, but in all honesty, the guy is all tanned skin against angular sharp lines everywhere, shirtless and resting against Otabek’s arm.

He still feels like an idiot, even when Azad laughs it off. “Well, not everyone gets to be an international fucking jacked athlete, right?” He cackles and Yuri swears he can see Otabek’s walls trembling: Azad is loud, cheerful in his own way, always speaking his mind. He’s never afraid of people listening; Yuri can tell that from the way he laughs wholeheartedly, as if the world would fall apart the day he stops.”What good would your medals be if we all were?”

“I’ll beat your ass anyways, you loud-mouthed motherfu-”

“What was that about Chris, Yura?” Otabek interrupts, deadpans while running a hand across Azad’s shoulders to squeeze tight enough for him to wince. If Yuri can notice from a grainy video, Otabek must not be fooling around. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just….” Yuri tries to explain but he can’t find the words. Katsudon and Viktor are being invited to be the lustful centerpiece for Chris Giacometti’s birthday party at the Capital of Sin. The European one. Well, one of them, probably. Yuri is too scared of what could happen if he stays there on his own, and if Chris is not inviting Otabek, then he will. “Chris just invited _us,”_ Otabek doesn’t really need to know the phrase is slightly inaccurate, right? “To his birthday party. In fucking Amsterdam.”

“Oh.” Otabek seems fine with it. Why would he even be fine with it? This is Christophe ‘pornstar on ice’ Giacometti. No one should ever be fine with anything he proposes. Ever. Yuri doesn’t really know the guy well, but he’s heard enough comments about Otabek whispered between Chris and Viktor to know the guy is, at the very least, not too trustworthy. At the _very_ least. Then something changes: Otabek’s expression goes from his usual relaxed self to a crunching of the nose, a pressed line of his mouth, brow furrowed. “Oh. Amsterdam? That’s…” There’s a twitch at the side of his mouth before speaking, as if he was about to say something but changed the words at the last minute. “Fitting. I guess.”

“Interesting, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, champ?” Azad turns from Otabek to Yuri and back to Otabek when none of them answer. The hand on his shoulder clasps shut again.

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” Otabek says, looking intensely at his friend, “you cannot, for _any reason_ , show up there. They can’t see you, especially around us. I have enough problems with all of this as it is. Are we clear?” Azad laughs, trying to shrug off the penetrating stare drilling into him, yet he’s still firmly grasped by his shoulder. His chuckle gets cut off by Otabek’s stern voice. “Are we clear?”

“Okay, man, fine.” Azad raises his hands in surrender and the hand on his shoulder relaxes, falling off his back. “I mean,” he shrugs and stares back into the camera, where Yuri has been watching the scene before his eyes, too afraid of the result of it to say anything about it. Otabek’s right, what if he shows up? Otabek would probably get kicked out along with his friend just because of some stupid rumour going around about his bad influences. And Azad does look like a bad influence, sickly thin and chains hanging all over his frame, Yuri can’t really blame them for thinking so.

If that happens, then Yuri would be all alone and forced to see Katsuki and Viktor half clothed at best, drunk and humping each other at worst. He’s not ready for something like that. Not again; he can’t bleach his mind enough after their wedding after party. “I mean, Amsterdam is a big city after all, isn’t it?” Azad winks at the camera, a smirk on his face and Yuri feels the tension in the air, the electricity prickling his skin. The calm before the fucking storm.

He can see on his boyfriend’s eyes he feel it too. Otabek brushes a hand through his hair, pulling it all back, and sighs long. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

Azad just laughs.

Yuri thinks he hears thunderbolts in the horizon.

_Aren’t we?_

 

* * *

 

 

He has to admit, the air is calm and chilly on his skin, almost like at home. The luxury hotel Chris has obviously chosen for his party is right in the middle of the Red Light district, and the thin streets are constantly speckled with passersby and late-night cyclists who laugh out loud and chat in a dozen different languages. Still, the breeze on his ear pushes him away from it all, the moonlight shining into a distant quiet canal. The red lights around him, underneath him, gleaming like lulled little stars on their own; a swift silhouette twisting against it, projecting shadows on a cobble night sky.

“Running away so early?” Yuri doesn’t need to turn to realize whose voice it is, too see who’s leaning on the balcony rail just as he is. The space in between them feels like a bruise being poked underneath the blond’s skin: he knows it’s there, yet he focuses on it, sensing the distance like a brush of cold wind at his side.

He gulps the flute of champagne on his hand, swallowing down his sudden solitude with it. “Well, you’re following me, so.” He chuckles, trying to turn the tone in his voice as far from how pathetic he feels as possible. Maybe the wind can hide the weight of it just enough.

Yuri has started hating this side of them almost from day one, but he knows he needs to stay strong. Otabek has done his fair share so far, letting him into every part of his life he cherishes deeply. Apart from his family. Apart from his name. Yuri knows he shouldn’t ask for more than what Otabek can give but he yearns for it so. He can hear Viktor practically yelling at his husband as if they weren’t holding each other, and something climbs up his throat, the bitter taste of disgust. No, it’s not really that, no matter how much he wants to kid himself. He turns to Otabek, who’s staring quietly at the deep blue sky above them.

“Does this…” Otabek starts as he turns to him; his hands fidget, fingers tapping on the beer bottle. Yet the words get lost. He just scoffs at the sky and throws out the indifferent mask he puts up every time he’s in a place like this. Every time he’s not himself, he’s just another skater. A hero. A fucking role model. Must be exhausting. “Fuck it, wanna get out?”

Yuri glances at the hall behind them: the suite’s draped in a soft blue light, and a pole stands in the middle of it; he dreads the moment it’s gonna be put in use. A bunch of drunken skaters are playing silly games involving far too many bottles to be reasonable, half of them already drained; they’re all clinging onto each other and giggling like school kids. Yuri feels like an outsider: there’s a lighthearted spirit in the room he just can’t share, he’s been keeping too much to himself for too long. It’s like a veil covering his fingers every time he tries to reach out. There’s just too much at stake for him to speak up even when it’s not his dirt being swept under the rug what could be spilled out. Yuri’s doing it for _him_ and that’s all that matters. He can endure it. Even when he’s certain there’s no real threat, not here; not with Viktor looking out for them. Because as annoying as he is, Yuri knows he’ll step up for them if they ever need him to.

Still, he doesn’t dare pull himself closer to Otabek. Not just now.

His phone buzzes; Yuri turns to see Otabek holding his own in one hand while sipping on his beer, his eyes fixated on the canal glistening under the night lights.

> _I can’t stand not being able to touch you. Please come out with me. Anywhere. I just need you close._

Yuri drops his phone back into his pocket, closing the hoodie tighter around him. It is too beautiful a night to waste caught up inside with too-sexy-for-my-shirt Giacometti and his loser squad. Mila had ditched them some time ago, catching up with ‘friends’ as she said; Leo’s half asleep and still giggling, clutching desperately to the little Chinese boy whose name Yuri still can’t remember,  to stop himself from falling face first into the fluffy rug. There’s really nothing for them both here, is there?

“So.” Yuri clicks his tongue and turns, leaning his elbow on the rail, his fingernails clicking against the empty glass. He plays at a confidence he doesn’t really feel, whipping his hair off his face. Otabek takes a step towards him, downing his beer and hooking his thumbs on the belt loops of his faded black jeans; he tilts his chin up and there’s no amount of alcohol in the world that can make Yuri hide the challenge in that stance. “Where are we going?”

A smile slowly creeps onto Otabek’s face as if the words took their time to settle in his ears.There’s a smug gleam in his eyes, the faintest trace of that predatory smirk he makes when he’s up to something. The memory of furtive kisses at the back door of a filthy club, both of them a tangle of limbs and skin bristling against skin hidden over the city noises, makes Yuri shiver.

“I know just the place.”

 

* * *

 

 

They shuffle through the night, shrinking into their coats to cut the sharp cold breeze, more running than walking. Yuri follows blindly, not daring to take his hand out of his pocket to take Otabek’s. He tells himself it’s because of the weather.

Otabek has been receiving messages: Dasha and Azad are in town. Of course they are; Yuri knew the asshole would be hopping along the minute Yuri had mentioned the word Amsterdam in his presence. As far as Yuri knows, the pair were highschool friends. They’d even been pretend boyfriends for a while, at least until Dasha got bored of pretending. She and Azad were almost constantly together, living a few blocks away from each other and meeting more often than not for lunch or after-work drinks. It’s almost a relief to see them together: a couple with no skeletons in the closet, with no secrets for each other. Well…. Almost no skeletons in the closet. They haven’t told him of any, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, right?

Yuri’s so caught up on his thoughts he crashes against Otabek’s back, who stops suddenly at a brightly painted corner cafe.

“Here? Are you serious?” The place is small to say the least; cramped with people. There’s soft music coming out of it and the penetrating smell of smoke stinging in his nostrils. And not quite cigarette smoke, either. Yuri can’t help but scrunch his nose at the sight: he can almost hear Viktor bitching over his shoulders. “We’re athletes, Beka.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know that.” Otabek pulls his hand out of his pocket in spite of the cold to hold him close, linking him by the waist; the tip of his nose nuzzling against Yuri’s scarf. “I didn’t choose the place either. They did.”

“I’ll do whatever I feel like at the exact moment I decide, alright? You don’t need to tell me that.” Yuri scoffs; he can see Otabek raising a brow at him from the corner of his eye. He might have sounded a bit too pissed, a bit too tired. He’s been bullshitting his way out of relationship questions all night, making up every answer as the inquiring kept coming, wanting nothing more than to grab Otabek by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss without being treated like an exhibition piece for it. The night just got to him, in the end. Yuri needs to loosen up, he can tell without Otabek saying anything about it--not that he needs to, anyways, Otabek can be really expressive without words. Yuri pushes his boyfriend off of him only to pull him back, a hand under his chin, into a thirsty kiss, tongues twirling and the night lights gleaming under closed eyelids. “And I’ll start right this second.”

Otabek just stares through half lidded eyes the moment they break apart, his hands on Yuri’s face, still cupping his cheek. He chuckles softly, a heavy weight seemingly lifting off his shoulders. “That’s more like you.” He grins and add, “You sounded like Viktor for a moment.” Yuri punches him on the arm and Otabek winces just in case. He takes Yuri’s hand in his, tugging slightly. “So, shall we go in?”

Yuri smiles and feels he hasn’t all day. He has to make the fuzzy warmth inside of him count. He has to make this night count. It is Valentine’s day, his first, and he’ll make it happen.

  


* * *

 

 

It’s fairly easy to find them: they’re the loudest group of people in the place, leaning against the wall and laughing loudly. Dasha is gripping a girl’s shoulder, an arm sneaking on her waist while mumbling some comment about her companion’s soft red hair and… Oh. So _there_ she was.

“Mila?” The redhead whips her head around at the sound of Yuri’s voice, waving like a maniac when she sees him. She’s about to say something when Azad whispers something in her ear and she goes into a giggling fit. Great. “What the hell are you doing in a coffee shop?”

“Well, what are _you_ doing in a coffee shop, Kitten?” Mila replies in between chuckles as the couple walks up to them. Azad offers Yuri something; he shakes his head in refusal without bothering to look at him. Otabek accepts. “I thought you were having fun watching middle aged men play strip poker and spin the bottle and shit.” Mila’s words slur together as laughter rips out of her throat. Yuri just rolls his eyes at her.

“How come you weren’t there? It took us some time to get out of the spotlight enough to sneak out,” Otabek jumps in, releasing a slow swirl of smoke from his lips, a flourish drawn over his breath, white melting into the jet black of the hair cascading at the side of his face. How can the guy is capable of making even smoking pot look sexy, is beyond Yuri.

“And together. Weren’t you with your friends, Baba?” Yuri spits out, the smell of the place making his nose tingle. He knows that no matter what, the smoke will cling onto his clothes; he’ll get yelled at the morning after for sure. But at least he won’t be the only one.

Mila opens her arms to gesture to the people around her. “Well, _yeah_ . Dasha told me they were coming, so…” She lowers her gaze at Otabek, as if to ask permission, and he offers the joint to her, his palm drawn to her. She takes a hit right from his hand and looks up to let the puff twirl around her lips and above her, vanishing before it touches the ceiling. She coughs softly the second she looks down, and keeps talking with a playful smile. “I _might_ have gotten an unexpected fever as soon as they texted me.”

“That’s a new low.” Yuri tries to sound reprimanding but the words come out sounding just like the worst version of Lilia when she’s pissed off; he’s got his hands on his hips and everything. The idea of Mila fake coughing into her phone, texting Chris to apologize for the cancellation, puppy eyed and staring into an empty wall just to stay in character, is too hilarious for Yuri to actually be mad at her. He was gonna have to look for Otabek anyways; the excuse wasn’t good enough for him to use anyways. “We had to sneak out the complicated way. And even then I got asked a lot about things I didn’t wanna answer.”

“Since when are you the shy kind of guy, champ?” Azad chuckles as Dasha tilts his head back to let out perfect smoke rings. _That_ looks really cool, Yuri won’t deny that. He’s still afraid of letting himself loose, even though he knows he’s around the only people he knows for sure won’t judge him. “The first night I saw you, you were all over my boy here. Are you suddenly afraid of us?” Azad runs a hand across Otabek’s shoulders and Yuri feels his boyfriend stiffen; his grip tightening as Otabek glares at him but says nothing.

“I’m not afraid, moron!” Yuri snaps the exact way he had silently promised himself he wouldn’t just a second ago. “You’re an idiot, but the guys at that hotel, they’re perverts. Thorough ones.” Yuri makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and a the crowd crack up around him, two of them out of sheer second hand embarrassment, two because they know that expression very well. And those perverts.

Yet, some don’t, and they _have_ to keep on asking. “What does ‘thorough’ mean? As in, ‘how much cock can you fit in your mouth’ or something?” Dasha says as if she’s talking about the fucking weather and Yuri chokes on his own spit. Mila giggles so much she can hardly breathe. Otabek’s just petrified: he snatches the joint from Dasha’s fingers and take a long drag, as if he’s trying to avoid having to say anything.

If no one will, then maybe Yuri’ll have to. The minute he stops sputtering, that is. He’s grateful they don’t need to speak English to each other. “Pretty much? And how, how often, details, the whole deal. I’d probably have to write a report on my fucking sex life if I didn’t escape that hellhole.” Mila tries to pat his head sympathetically, the smirk still dancing on her lips, and he attempts to bite her hand just to stop her. Otabek pretends to be fucking invisible even though for once, Yuri needs him to actually speak up.

“I’d brag.” Dasha’s easy going atitude about it all is impressive. Then again, of course she would; she doesn’t know Viktor and his crew. She doesn’t live next to them, or see them everyday. Something in the back of Yuri’s mind still tells him that even then, even if she _was_ a neighbour, she’d go for it, making up fully detailed stories just for them. She’s anything but shy, that much Yuri knows. “If I can, I’d even show and tell. I have played wankers by asking for blowjob shots just to brag, man.” She shrugs. “They’ll pay you a hell lot of drinks if you take just one of those.”

“The shots?” Otabek finally chimes in. Dasha cracks up. The whole conversation seems to drown more and more into laughing fits as time goes by; even Yuri falls into it, letting go of his nervousness little by little. They’re not so bad, after all; he could get used to hanging out like this.

“I don’t do guys, so yeah,” Dasha adds between cackles. “I mean: if you got it, flaunt it. If you don’t, well… lie.” She puts on her best innocent smile and bursts out laughing again.

Yuri hears Otabek snorting by his side before taking another hit and passing the thing around. “I would.” Otabek adds and Yuri chokes on air as Mila widens her eyes, covering her mouth to hide her obvious grin; she can’t fool him. “Giacometti doesn’t seem like the guy who keeps his distance, though.” Otabek winces; Yuri’s sure he does, too. The image of Chris half dressed, drunk and trying to check if Otabek has something to brag about makes his stomach turn upside down and his blood boil. Especially since most of the attendants of that damn party don’t know Otabek’s taken. Who knows how much would Chris want to know, where he’d draw the line.

“Do you have anything to brag about?” Mila replies, a smug tone hardly hiding the curiosity behind her words. Otabek only raises a brow as his friends besides him crack up laughing.

Yuri’s certain their conversation can be heard all the way from the street already, yet he can't seem to care enough as his own voice grows even louder. “Oi! Get a grip, Baba!”

  


* * *

 

 

He doesn’t notice really how they managed to end up here, clutching empty beer cans and leaning on the fence of some park near the canal, yelling and laughing at each other as if they were alone in the world. Yuri can’t recall the last time he felt so comfortable around people- it’s easy with Otabek, but usually the situation changed when someone else joined them. Right now Yuri feels like the world is his, and there’s nothing that could damage this tiny perfect moment: holding onto Otabek’s neck as he wraps his arms around his waist, the warmth of his skin digging through his clothing. Otabek kisses him slowly, lovingly, and he feels like he’s melting against the boy’s lips; he can’t care less about Mila swooning in the background for once. The moment he tastes Otabek’s mouth everything is background.

He realizes they’re alone after what could have been minutes, what could have been hours. He’s drowning in Otabek’s touch so deeply he didn’t even hear them go.

“They’re buying something to drink.” Otabek cups Yuri’s jaw, the long golden threads of hair twining through in his fingers, as he kisses soft pecks onto Yuri’s cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Yuri giggles and responds by trying to bite him every time he gets close, hissing. Otabek just dodges him every time, grinning and Yuri feels there’s a dawn hidden in his smile, the promise of summertime under the freezing Dutch weather. “Do you miss them already?” Otabek whispers against his lips and Yuri’s heart races within his chest, his hips moving closer as he lips Otabek’s mouth open.

Yuri hears his name yelled and dismisses it, too focused on the sensation of Otabek’s warm soft kiss swallowing the cold touch of his own. He has to look up, whining, when the voice yells Otabek’s name and he actually listens, yanking him to an alleyway the second he lifts his gaze. Yuri gets pulled through the thin streets by his hand as Mila, Dasha and Azad show up besides him, laughing and stumbling on their own feet.

“What the fuck is all of this?!”

“Just run!” Mila shouts behind him, “don’t stop!”

He doesn’t dare confront her; not now at least, just in case. There’s a man following them and he won’t be the one who turns around and ask him why.

The tiny streets and canals all over the place look too alike to one another for Yuri to know where the hell he is by the time they finally stopped, certain they haven’t being followed for a few blocks already. He wants to snap at them but he can hardly sound menacing panting as he is, leaning his back against a brick wall. “What the fuck…. Was all that about?”

Mila chuckles against the mouth of the water bottle she’s been holding, chest still heaving from the run. Azad is also trying to breath normally again, hands on his knees, too winded even pay attention to Yuri. Otabek just sat on the ground with Dasha, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. “Who was the guy anyways?” Otabek murmurs to her, and she nuzzles his cheek in response.

“Cop. I fucked up.” Azad explains in between hard breaths. He’s not much of an athlete, is he? Yuri might not know where they are but they couldn’t have run that far either. He’s about to retaliate, taking a step towards the man, but he takes a step back. “But he did first!”

“Mh-hm.” Mila hums, handling the bottle to Yuri, who takes a long gulp out of it as she speaks. “Groped Dasha, got punched, said the magic word.” She does a sort of reverence, vowing to then as if they were her audience and gets back up. “And here we are.”

Dasha takes a cigarette out of a metal case from her jacket pocket and lights it. “Magic words being ‘This is assault to a police officer, do not move’,” She takes a drag. That does not smell like a cigarette. She hands it to Otabek who smokes it by her side. “So we moved.”

“Was he even an actual cop?” Otabek scoffs, passing the joint to the person on his left without even looking up. Who would be Yuri. He takes it, letting it rest on his fingers. He feels furtive glances on him, ignores them. He might just have outrun an actual cop. He’s called himself the Russian Punk, but this is the actual, probable first time he actually had to outrun a cop. It’s a strange night as it is, after all: laughing out loud and yelling on the streets _not_ out of anger, and just being so comfortable. For once. It is a unique night. Otabek turns to him with concern in his words. “Yura, you don’t have to. Just-”

Yuri knows the drill. Breathe in, let the smoke crawl into his lungs, let it out slowly. It’s not rocket science, kids can do it; he’s been offered a smoke after ballet class more than once. He can do it. He puts the joint on his lips, takes a deep breath… feels the heat of the smoke, enveloping his throat like a faint touch of dry air, invading his mouth with the strong taste. He doesn’t _get_ how kids do it, it’s too much: he coughs and splutters immediately while Mila pretty much jumps to his side to take the joint out of his hand and pat on his back, cackling.

“You don’t have to take the gold in this, too, Kitten, take it slow!” Mila says. Yuri would love to follow her advice, but with each blow on his back he feels closer and closer to actually spitting his lungs out.

She moves away. A soft touch creeps under Yuri’s jacket, wrapping around his waist, fingers linking against his stomach. An “Are you okay?” is whispered into his hair, warm against his skin; he tries to suppress the shivers as he twirls into the embrace so he can look at Otabek in the eye.

“Yeah…” His voice still sounds faint after the coughing fit. Yuri presses his forehead against his boyfriend’s, studying that special spark in his stare, not so firm as always, so intimidating. There’s a delicate pink tone on his pupils, barely noticeable under the moonlight, a half lidded adoration in his eyes, a recurrent brush on his teeth against his lower lip, as if he’s eager to do something he doesn’t quite dare.

“You sure?” Otabek nuzzles him, a tone almost sleepy in his voice, his fingers brushing against Yuri’s sweater impossibly slow. Yuri unconsciously purrs into his mouth, arching his back at the touch. He tastes Otabek’s lips and lets his tongue dart into the boy’s mouth, expertly pulling faint little moans from him. He sees a sudden light, like a bolt of lightning, or a… It doesn’t really matter: the sensation of Otabek holding him, caressing him is enough to block out all the rest of the world; Yuri wouldn’t give a shit even if the sky would be falling to pieces. They pull away slowly, trying to savour every second of it.

Otabek gestures to Dasha, who gives him the lighter and the metal case, shiny silver with a bright biohazard symbol right at the front. Of course. He takes another not-a-cigarette out of the tin and lights it, taking it to his lips to inhale a long drag out of it before offering it back to Yuri. “Now, listen.” He brushes Yuri’s lower lip with his thumb to let him take the joint from his fingers. “Take it slow, okay? Just a bit.” Yuri has to suppress his laughter not to choke on the smoke filling up his mouth; he can hear the smothered cackles from behind, anyways. His throat’s still sore from the fit earlier so he’s not willing to take his chances again. He lets Otabek take the joint out of his mouth. “Breathe in now. It’s easier through your nose, less chance of-” Easier? Please, Yuri doesn’t need easier. He doesn’t do _easy._ He inhales sharply through his mouth and feels the hot touch of smoke ease out as the chill breeze pushes it in. It’s not so bad, definitely not as bad as before, but he still doesn’t get the point of it all. “Or do whatever you want.” Otabek finishes and Yuri chuckles a puff of smoke. He lifts his gaze as Otabek’s hand cup his jaw. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah?”

Otabek takes the joint to his lips and breaths in without breaking eye contact. He lets the smoke out after a few seconds, his eyes closing shut and falling on Yuri again. “So?”

There's something strangely alluring about his heavy gaze, something animalistic, primal. As if Otabek had just forgotten every bit of manners and social conventions and… common sense or something. As if he’d be capable of asking Yuri, just there and then, to take him or kiss him or fuck or do whatever, it doesn’t matter, as long as he can be Yuri’s once again.

Yuri smirks. It’s a look that quite fits Otabek, after all. “Hit me.”

 

It’s like fireflies. Or fairlights. The stars collide against the deep blue sky, almost flickering, brighter than he’s ever seen them before. Fucking _gigantic_. Yuri can’t really blame Chris: the river beneath them looks like liquid silver, a jewel running along a cold stone crevasse, glistening blurry hypnotic patterns for him. As if it was a thin veil floating on the air, a solid thing dancing on its toes. He lets go of Otabek, stunned by the bright lights behind him, running to the bridge rail. He wonders if he could skate on it, if it would move under his blades like a sheet suspended on the abyss. He wonders if he’s light enough to take the dare.

The breeze picks up from its lull; he takes a deep breath, allowing his hands to run across the rail, his arms stretched out at his sides as wide as they go. Yuri feels someone yank him and doesn’t resist, then clashes against Mila’s body in a dancing stance, one hand meeting hers and the other at the middle of her back. It’s a reflex at this point. “Your eyes look so cute bloodshot like that,” she whispers yet her tone is anything but hushed. “Ethereal like a damn fairy!”

She swirls him around her, and they dance to a silent tune their bodies are used to, just to let him go on a spin with a flick of her wrist. Yuri collides against Otabek’s chest, less graciously than he’d prefer as he’d like to remember the day after, yet he still puts his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. “Hey.”

 _Smooth, Plisetsky._ If flirting was complicated enough for him, it’s impossible now that Yuri’s head feels like a fuzz of colour and lights and little jolts at the tip of his fingers at every touch. He runs his hands through Otabek’s undercut just to feel the buzz travel to his spine.

“Hey.” Otabek holds him by his waist and a bit lower too, sneaking one hand into the back pocket of Yuri’s jeans and pressing him closer. There’s something alluring, something addictive about Otabek’s scent, even mixed with the smell of weed and the cold of the night. He suppresses the sudden need to let his head fall on the crook of Otabek’s neck and fill his lungs with it.

“You’re not gonna say some fairy shit too, aren’t you?” Yuri laughs. More like _giggles._ He would be embarrassed if it weren’t contagious. Otabek laughs and Yuri knows he’d go back and play with Viktor, no matter the ridicule, as long as he can hear Otabek laugh again.

Otabek tilts his head slowly upwards, staring deep into his eyes. He breathes out slowly, as if a sudden movement could break the spell and everything would crumble around them. “Close.” He closes his eyes, looking for words, and smiles as he looks up to Yuri again. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. If someone told me you were a work of magic, I’d believe it.” He reaches to peck his lips and speak in a sweet low murmur; Yuri can feel the words vibrating against his mouth. “As long as it doesn’t mean I’m dreaming of you and you’ll vanish in the morning.”

Yuri nudges Otabek’s shoulder. He giggles out of sheer embarrassment, only to thread his fingers through the longer part of his hair, tugging slightly and savoring the tiniest of whimpers that Otabek breathes out. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily, Altin. You’ll need more than sappy sweet talk for that.”

“Good.” Otabek purposefully pushes both hands down to cup Yuri’s ass, scratching his way back up to the waistband of his pants. Yuri can hear the comments, he doesn’t bother trying to actually decipher what they’re saying. “Cause I’m far from done with you yet.”

  


* * *

 

 

He doesn’t mind anymore. Doesn’t mind the way they all held hands like little children, Otabek embracing him and the trio all crumpled together, to get on the boat. That they were, in fact, getting on an apartment of a fucking boat, which was already something else. That he can’t stop brushing his fingers against Otabek’s palm, inebriated with the sensation of scars against his own skin. That Mila waved him goodbye at some point and he can’t quite tell if it was five minutes or an hour ago, and he doesn’t really care as he lies down next to Otabek on a fluffy tapestry at the side of the bed where Azad and Dasha are playfully kicking each other and taking pictures and babbling in Kazakh. That all Yuri can think of is touching Otabek, caressing him, feeling him shiver under his lips.

And he does just that. Yuri props himself up on his elbow to run a hand slowly over the creases and curves of Otabek’s torso, taking in the feverish touch of his skin, the delicate bristle as fingers snake back and forth. He adjusts his knee in between Otabek’s legs to allow his boyfriend’s hand to pet and knead and squeeze at his thigh, following the pressure of his own ministrations on him; he drinks his low moans off his mouth, eyes open to see him pleading, so lost in the sensations, so open to them. Yuri stares just to let the image burn into his retinas, staying with him forever.

The hand on his leg presses tightly as it crawls up his thigh to his ass and runs fingernails over his spine, making Yuri’s back arch on his own, a shameful whine escaping his lips. He lets himself slide onto the rug as Otabek looms over him, caressing his back at a consistent pace, following the rhythms of the mewls Yuri can’t seem to contain. He can still hear the mumbling from the bed, but nothing can be important enough to make him snap out of the buzzing electricity of Otabek’s skin against his.

He lets the words slur against the carpet, groaning deep, and Otabek asks. At every touch he hears himself repeating the phrase over and over, until Otabek chuckles and pulls him by the shoulder, letting his back clash against the floor and locating himself in between his legs. “Is all of that only because I know how to touch you?” He smirks and Yuri feels like melting. “Or is it the weed?”

He kicks Otabek’s ass, pushing him over himself. “I love you, you dick,” Yuri says way too sweetly for his own taste. “I do love you.” He kisses him hard and pulls away to second he feels Otabek responding, as a retaliation. “The touching thing is just a good bonus.”

They kiss. They lick. They bite. They touch.

They hug. They repeat the words. Over and over.

They are drowning in the sensations between them: the warmth and taste mesmerizing, deep and gleaming and so beautiful, like a river flowing calmly under a bridge on a moonlit night. But the words are the current that pulls them by the ankles down into the abyss, into a world that's much brighter than way up there

They whisper ‘I love you’ as they drift slowly into sleep, a tangle of limbs on a fluffy carpet. They whisper it onto each other’s lips,  where it will never vanish from their skin, like a mark engraved within their chests, joining them together.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri wakes up cradled by the warm embrace of Otabek’s body. All around him, as a matter of fact: he opens his eyes to see his boyfriend breathing soundly on his collarbone, arms and legs wrapped around him. Yuri can’t complain, really; he remembers the night before, bits and pieces forming an out of tune melody in his head. He plants a kiss on Otabek’s hair and feels one on his neck in response.

“Morning, Yura.” The words tickle against the nape of his neck; he squirms and holds Otabek closer.

“Morning.” Yuri goes to nuzzle Otabek’s hair but the smell makes him frown and twist his mouth. “You smell like a pothead hobo.”

“I wonder why.” Hei doesn’t need to see Otabek to know he’s smirking, face hidden against Yuri’s chest. “You’re not much different, you know.”

“Fuck you, I’m a… What was it? Too beautiful to be real?” Yuri chuckles, trying to hide the fuzzy feeling that raises again on his gut as he remembers the exact words.

“Well, you are. That doesn’t mean you don’t smell like weed and champagne and morning breath.” Yuri punches Otabek’s shoulder and he giggles, still half asleep. He’s certain it’s one of the most adorable sounds he’s ever heard. Not that he’ll say it out loud. “You’re still too magical to be real and I’m lucky to be around you.” Or maybe that was the one. “Even when you could really use a shower.” Well, _that_ surely isn’t it.

“You know, I don’t know if you’re trying to be disgustingly sugary or an asshole, but you’re definitely succeeding on the latter.” Yuri scoffs, lifting up his gaze to the bed. “And where are the guys?”

“I’m only honest, Yura. Fully.” The seriousness of Otabek’s voice makes something inside of him stir. He knows, of course he knows, but at every further confirmation of Otabek’s love for him, his heart races in his chest, filling him with this fuzzy fluttery feeling inside he thought he was over over. Turns out he’ll never get used to it. Not that he’s pissed about it either.

“And what about them?”

“Mh. I was sleeping, Yura.” Otabek looks up to him frowning, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He places a small peck on the line of his jaw. “How should I know?”

“Well, I’m hungry.” Yuri whines and pouts, knowing Otabek will have to answer somehow. He always does.

“Mh.” Otabek slides a bit further up to barely kiss the corner of his mouth. “Now let me see,” and gnaws at his lower lip, “if I can distract you.”

He rises from their spot on the floor to loom over Yuri and leave little damp kisses around his neck, fingers crawling around the waistband of Yuri’s pants, teasing to move further down only to retreat back up. Yuri giggles when he feels the gentle scratching moving from the line of his hipbones to the most sensitive spots on his sides, squirming to get away from the touch.

“Beka, that’s cheating!” He tries to yell in between chuckles and the phrase come out more as jagged whimper, kicking and arching his back to pull away, one hand trapped in between Otabek’s frame and the floor. “Let me go, fucker!”

Otabek just hums against Yuri’s skin, kissing the corner of his lips, the curve of his neck, switching from tickling him relentlessly to caressing him so sweetly it makes him forget the pressure in his chest from laughing like a maniac.

“Were you two too busy to at least text last night?” The front door opens and Yuri whines out of habit as Viktor steps in; Otabek groans and let himself collapse against his chest. “And what’s that _smell_?”

“We’re in Amsterdam, take a wild guess.” Azad moves from behind him to leave some bags in the kitchen counter.

Dasha follows suit, sipping from a water bottle. “Look what we found on our way back, boys. Also,” she say, pointing at the grocery bags, “breakfast. Get up, lovebirds.”

Yuri runs a hand through Otabek’s undercut, feeling the boy’s purr vibrating against his chest, yet he can’t stand up. Otabek grunts as he moves further over his torso to pin him down, a deadweight over him whining not to get up.

“Beka I’m _hungry_.” Yuri mewls but Otabek plays dead, groaning against his collarbone. He scoffs and takes a deep breath to twist himself up, making Otabek fall on his back against the carpet as Yuri leans over him, elbows at each side of his head. The boy just giggles. Yuri bites down a grin: he wishes he could drink this image of his boyfriend, bedhead and sleepy loving gaze, a childish pout twisting his mouth, just to make it last forever. He wishes he could do that with every single one. “You’re so cute.” Yuri leans in to kiss his frown off, his smile back in swift little pecks. “You’re so fucking cute, I can’t let go of you.” Otabek giggles through his kisses and Yuri frowns. “Stop being so adorable, I want breakfast.”

“Then get up.”

“I don’t wanna _leave you._ ” Yuri groans and lets his head fall on the crook of Otabek’s neck, “even when you smell awful.”

His frame rumbles as Otabek chuckles underneaths him, and promptly kisses him loudly right on his ear. “Oi, don’t do that!” Yuri tries to get up but two strong arms link behind him waist pushing him closer. He gets kissed on the ear again and the world sounds stuffier. “Stop, Beka!” But the words only encourage Otabek, pressing their bodies together and biting every patch of flesh he could reach.

They don’t hear the door creaking open again, muffled by the hushed words trapped in between their lips. They don’t hear the faint sigh, they don’t see the incipient smile. They’re too focused on each other, too drawn to linger with every touch, every kiss for as long as they can, too focused on one another to hear the shuffling of steps moving away, shutting the door closed.

Otabek stirs. There’s something buzzing from somewhere on the carpet. They’d ditched their coats the night before by just throwing them around the room: their phones could be anywhere. Well, not _theirs._ Yuri’s certain he never turned his on again after they left the hotel.

“Beka…” he nuzzles against Otabek’s cheeks as if he were a kitten asking to be petted. “Your phone’s ringing.” He scoffs and Otabek kisses his cheek. “Why the hell is the thing ringing?”

“Just… Just leave it.” Otabek catches Yuri’s lips on his, tasting the aftertaste of last night. “Breakfast, yeah?”

Yuri nods, arching his back to stretch before pulling up. “Breakfast.”

 

Somewhere on the carpet, a phone is lit up with a new notification: _Nikiforov has sent an image_. They’ll see it in time, the photo of them both giggling and staring into each other’s eyes as if all the magic of the world were somehow hidden within them. And Yuri will scoff: he shouldn’t have let someone like Viktor get the chance to take a picture like that. He’ll go back to the hotel kicking and snarling at Viktor, prudently alone in his foolhardy actions. Even though he knows it won’t get published, Yuri can already hear the relentless mocking he’ll get for it back at home.

He’ll tell himself it’s worth it, every time. He won’t regret a thing. He’ll still save that picture to his phone to look at it at night before bed. And remember their night in such a magical city.

But for now, breakfast.


End file.
